


HWD Drabble Night 19.01.2019

by Dewy_Peach



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, Dark, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Historical, Lots of flowers, M/M, Mostly fluffy tho, Nationverse, Sailors au, slightly angsty at parts, vague mention of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 01:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dewy_Peach/pseuds/Dewy_Peach
Summary: Collection of APH drabbles!





	1. Rope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France/England

Arthur clutched onto the main mast for dear life, not daring to look down. He was only halfway to the top, but his heart pounded in his chest. “This is higher than it looks from the deck,” he called nervously. “No way in hell I'm climbing up more.”

“You think this is hard?” Francis' laughter floated down towards him. “Imagine climbing the rigging in a storm to take down the sail, when the ship's bucking from side to side underneath you like she's trying to throw you off. I should’ve known you land-sucker can’t even do it in fair weather.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “I'm going to throw  _ you _ off that platform when I get there!” With his eyes set on the target, he climbed the rest of the way up out of pure spite, ignoring the way both the sky around him and his stomach seemed to be violently spinning about. But when Francis reached to help him onto the platform, smiling proudly, and Arthur took his calloused hand, his heart began racing in a completely different way.


	2. Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France/England

Arthur pulled back the curtains, letting bright sunshine in. “Morning, Francis. Time to get up.”

“Marianne,” she corrected softly and winced, rubbing her eyes and rolling over to face away from the light. “Today.”

“Oh, how lovely.” Arthur grinned. “Good to have you back, the more charming side of my partner.”

She snorted. “Am I not always charming?”

“You're more annoying when you're a man.”

“But you love me always.”

Even though he couldn't see her face, Arthur knew Marianne was smiling sleepily and smugly. 

He walked over and pulled the blankets off her. “That's true,” he said, “but it won't stop me from making sure you arrive at the meeting on time. Come on, princess.”

  
  



	3. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France/England

“I'm so done with roses,” England complained one day, half-jokingly, but trying to maintain a serious expression. “You literally put them everywhere, and everything you use is rose-scented. Stop buying me roses! I know it's your damn trademark flower, but if I get another bouquet that smells like your deodorant, I'm going to-”

“But Cher!” France put a hand to his heart. “Roses represent my endless love and passion for you. What other flowers could possibly replace them?”

“There are plenty of flowers in the world, Francis,” England said. “I'm sure you can think of something.”

And so, France took him to Provence to see purple fields of lavender stretching to the horizon, and pick bouquets of lavender to place on the windowsill in their little countryside hotel room. They took baths filled with lavender oils and went to sleep on a bed sprinkled with purple petals. “What do you say?” France murmured, kissing the back of England's neck. 

England sighed. “Next time, make it anything but roses and lavender. I'm sick of the scent already...”


	4. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> China/Russia

Russia sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the city of Shanghai spread beneath his feet like a carpet of neon lights - a second starry sky to mirror the one above. 

“Are you happy?”

The voice came from the bed behind him. When he turned around, he saw China sitting upright, his narrowed eyes shining in the dark like those of a dragon in its lair. 

“Right now?” Russia asked, giving a little smile of surprise.

“In general. With your life.” China's shadowed form shifted in place, letting the blanket slide off his naked body. He gently lowered his feet to the cold flood. “Are you happy under the rule of the party?”

Russia's smile turned sour. “Whether or not I'm happy doesn't matter.” 

“So you aren't.” china walked towards him, bare feet making no sound on the smooth black floor. “Do you believe in the righteousness of your leader?”

“Of course I do.”

China placed a hand on Russia's chest, above his heart. “Do you really? Deep inside?” His eyes were fixed upon Russia's, searching, as he waited for an answer that didn't come. “Why do you put up with it, then?” 

“You know damn well why.”

“Oh, I know.” China's was saddling him now, stroking his shoulders and neck with cold hands. “Because you want to be powerful. You want to be feared. You remember your descent from greatness, your humiliation, your years of suffering. You remember being looked down upon.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “And you won't let that happen again.”

Russia found himself pulling him closer, and running his fingers through the black waterfall of his hair. He couldn't look away from those eyes.

“We are the same,” China said. “Stand by my side, Ivan.”

Instead of replying, Russia brought their lips together. 


	5. Melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France & Poland

Père Lachaise always felt more like a forest or a  park than a cemetery; today as well, with the rustling of leaves surrounding them, the atmosphere was calm and pleasant. It was a hundred and sixty years to the death of Chopin, and both nations came to pay their respects. 

“He loved you so much,” Poland said after a long silence, staring at the flowers he'd placed on the grave. “Was talking about you all the time. You were such an inspiration for him-”

“But his heart was yours,” France replied. “He was Polish to the very end.”

Poland sniffed, and France handed him a handkerchief. 

A group of tourists came by, stopping a few meters away from them, and the guide began enthusiastically explaining about Chopin's life. His hand-carried tape recorder played a gentle Nocturne. 

“I'll never have a greater composer,” Poland said wistfully, listening to the familiar and sweet melody.

“You have every right to be proud,” France patted his shoulder. “I'm lucky as well. You can go centuries without meeting a human like that.”

After a while, the tourists left. Some of them glanced at the strange pair over their shoulders. They looked almost as if they had known him, one of them muttered. 

“Let's go,” Poland said all of a sudden. “Fryderyk wouldn't want us to be so sad.”

“Good idea. Where?”

Poland hopped onto his feet, brushing the dust off his pants. “Shopping?” He winced. “Pun not intended.”

France burst out laughing. “You can't tell me you didn't realise!”

“I honestly didn't! Hey, let's just go to the cinema or something.”

“Sure. There's a new French movie that I think you'll like.”

When they walked out of the gate, it was almost as if they stepped out of a bubble, leaving the strange quiet of the cemetery behind to be suddenly surrounded by the noises of the city. 


End file.
